Eyes & Intuition

Eyes & Intuition
by Sammy

I could have had a lot of reasons for crying in the car that day.

For one, football practice had been pretty rough. Dropped passes, missed tackles. On the last play of the day, I went for the ball only to have it shoot through my fingers and thump me right in the head. That wouldn’t have been so bad, but I also happened to be crushed by a hormonally imbalanced 10th grader as soon as my feet left the ground. My helmet landed ten feet behind me.

Or the algebra test I had gotten back. I accidentally missed a whole page, and only got a B-minus!

Okay, fine. Embarrassing. But not really water-worthy. No, there was only one reason for me to be crying that autumn day, and she currently had her hand on my thigh, eyes locked in misty mine, asking why.

“Out with it, Jake. What’s up?”

I stammered like a dummy. “What do you mean, Mom?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me that. You’ve been sullen and withdrawn for weeks. Even your sister has noticed.”

I stared at my cleats, still caked in grass and mud, and said nothing. She reached over and took my hands from my lap, holding them firmly in hers.

“Honey, please be honest with me. What’s wrong?”

I swallowed slowly, and had begun to consider my options when I felt my chin lift up and tilt towards her glowing expression. I could have sworn she had done it, but I also could have sworn she never let go of me. I’m not, nor have I ever been religious, but I thought if the universe had ever shown anyone a “sign,” that was it. Honesty. It had to be honesty.

“I’ve been thinking…a lot…about having sex,” I muttered.

“…yeah?” She chuckled. “That’s normal, kiddo. And we both know that. So I’m sensing there’s more.”

I guess I didn’t respond quickly enough, and she reached her hand to my ear, tucking all four fingers behind and bringing her palm together in a gentle squeeze. It was something she had been doing to me for as long as I could remember.

“With you!” I blurted out. “Having sex…with you.” I felt a tear roll down my cheek.

“Oh, sweetie,” Mom sighed, deep and low, wrapping her arm around my shoulders before they even had a chance to sag. “It’s okay. Really.” I looked up at her, agog.

“What do you mean? It’s not…wrong? For me to think that? You’re my mom.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s because I’m your mom that it’s perfectly natural. I’m the closest woman in your life. We’ve spent almost all of our spare time together since your father and sister moved out. Please don’t worry yourself about it.”

“Yeah?”

She smiled. “Yeah. Hey, at least it wasn’t Dad.”

We both laughed. “Let’s take it one step at a time.”

“Yes.” She chuckled almost inaudibly. “One step at a time.” We shared a moment of silence then, one that I’ll never forget, yet can’t quite describe.

Out of the car, I began trailing Mom down the leafy path to our side door, late sunlight checkering the cobblestones and doing dangerous things to her thin sundress. Her chestnut hair was styled in not quite a Lulu bob, a little longer and more like a bell, but the effect was of a stunning film star all the same. Pausing a few feet ahead of me, she turned halfway back and bent slightly at the waist to pluck a dahlia. A sharp breeze shivered past me and moved swiftly in her direction, pressing the dress against her back, illuminating everything below. The split of her asscrack between the edges of her full-cut panties, the flare of her hips, a peach. My eyes drifted up to what took me a second to realize was a very fat, very erect nipple, and I spent a little more time along the road from “a” to “my own mother’s.” By the time I got to her knowing smirk, I had somehow closed the several-foot gap between us without even realizing it. She widened just enough for a flit of tooth.

“What took you so long, sweetie?”

Yep. That’s when I knew it for sure, as if I didn’t already. I was a goner. Head over heels. In love with my mom.

Forever.

And as odd as it might sound, the rest of the night was perfectly normal. Things felt different, sure, but beyond the odd lingering glance from which I could over-infer everything, it was just her and I being mother and son. When I had the house to myself, however…there were absolutely no limits to what we could be.

I don’t remember how my obsession with her panties began, just that I found myself spending a significant amount of time in her bedroom, exploring what I soon realized was a new, mysterious side to her. I’d slide the top drawer open, listening carefully to the metal wheels sliding along the tracks—still an achingly erotic sound for me—and take in the sea of whites and pinks and blues. Cataloguing was inevitable: picking each pair up, placing them across my face, imagining what they would look like on her, how much her pubic hair would peek through the intricate designs. It didn’t take long for the “regular” part of her wardrobe to become part of my fantasies, hiding a bra inside a blouse and panties inside slacks before laying it all softly onto her bed and imagining she was there, letting me undress her piece by piece.

I couldn’t tell you how often I mimed sliding her panties down her legs for the first time, seeing the pillow of dark curls I knew covered my birthplace. I’d pad over to her tall, thin laundry basket, the brown wicker having worn very thin in the six or so years since the Christmas I had given it to her, and begin digging greedily. A full outfit would be set, piece by piece, my imagination running wild with each article of clothing, scanning through all the times I could remember them on her. I relished each for what it said about her, her life; less her life with me than her life outside of me, her life as Corinne Jean Worthing, though it probably all came back to marveling at all she did to support me.

Before anything else, I hoped to know her completely. My possibly naive view was that if what she was in my mind already made me love her as much as I did, then anything else would only enhance and beatify that love. I’d come across a pale blue work shirt, the armpits of which were faded with faint sweat stains and the whiff of stale but pleasant deodorant. She was a home care nurse, specializing in patients with M.S., and had made a conscious decision in her mid-thirties to quit her factory job, go back to school, and make a living helping people. That the sweat was a product of that made it inherently erotic for me. I would always save the panties for last, at the very bottom, those small scraps that teased iceberg-like so much more below.

The scent of nothing I left on them, ever, came close to diluting what had collected underneath her during the day. I could soak my nostrils in any of her body-stained pairs months later and still smell her fresh as ever. If I came in them, I usually stuck my cock in the space behind the gusset; it was perfect for my width and I imagined it was a faint, faint approximation of filling my mother’s pussy with my cum. But sometimes, when she had left a healthy discharge behind, I would cum as hard as I could right into the off-white smear and rub it roughly into the material, the cum loosening the caked-on cunt. (If I lived in a wacky ’80s sci-fi comedy, I imagine I would have gotten her pregnant.) Afterwards, of course, I’d lick as much of it up as I could. Yet after she washed them, by hand, they were completely free of her. And I loved that, too. Almost omnipotence.

My attraction grew more and more intense, culminating in my discovery one Saturday morning of an item almost hidden in the back of the closet behind some coats and a 19th century chest: her wedding dress. Seeing it there, almost glowing in the light leaking in through the doorway awoke something deep inside me. I carefully took it from the hanger and rushed it back to my mother’s bed. I hugged the fabric close to my body as I luxuriated in her sheets. I imagined us exchanging vows, pledging to be together for the rest of our lives, slowly taking her wedding dress off together as we prepared to have sex for the first time on our honeymoon. I came with a grunt, humping the dress. Luckily, my cum didn’t make it through my shorts and the dress was no worse for wear. From that point, it became the most intense fantasy I could call on, and I’d almost always include my favorite pair of her panties underneath the dress, a full-back white pair with wide floral patterns in front. They always stained the best.

The weeks after the conversation in the car were pretty uneventful until one night when we were in the living room, me doing homework, her reading a book of Langston Hughes poems, Gershwin on the stereo. It was the perfect atmosphere, which was no surprise. Mom didn’t have a classical education but had made the most out of her spare time raising me and my sister, Marie, reading widely and learning enough about all of the arts to have a basis in just about anything we might have developed an interest in growing up. Our library cards were thrust into our hands regularly and with insistence, though Mom’s love for the written word was so contagious we soon needed no encouragement. She was always very self-effacing about her intellect, and used to joke about raising me into an “N.P.Re-re,” but to someone who had never experienced those things, it was like entering a whole other world. Or, even better, learning how big and wonderful our own was.

I must have dozed off, because the record had stopped when I woke up, and a big bright light was toasting my forehead. I also felt Mom’s hand on my stomach, right over my bellybutton, softly tracing circles. I craned my head slightly towards the other end of the couch, not wanting to do anything that would possibly interrupt this sensation, and saw that the light was her laptop. Onscreen I saw a picture of a very pretty blond woman and a teenage boy, I’d guess at the boy’s graduation, he in a suit and she in a short floral sundress. Before I could get a better look, Mom went on to the next picture, and the next, all of the same couple, the whole while rubbing me lower and lower. My heart skipped a beat, maybe stopped completely, when she clicked to the next and appeared a photo of us from when I was about 11, she on my lap by the backyard firepit, both of us laughing. She was wearing a soft wool tank top and faded blue jeans—I remember my favorite pair of her panties, the ones with the wide floral front, peeking out the back of her jeans, and a little from a strip missing on the rear cheek. To this day I can still feel her wide ass as it felt on my lap when that picture was taken—she had lost about thirty pounds in the few years since, and I missed the feeling of my little cock nudged in between her cheeks, and had pulled myself to that picture in particular about ninety times.

When it had opened onscreen, Mom stopped rubbing me immediately and stared at it. After about ten seconds, she removed her hand completely and closed the laptop. I managed to shut my eyes an instant before she turned. She ruffled my hair and her left hand slipped behind my ear. The moan struggled against my lips but I suppressed it. Her scent swam over me and the slope to the left of my lips was suddenly wet. The smacking sound rang louder than she probably expected, because she abruptly got up, placed her throw blanket over me, and started towards back of the house. I was tempted to open her laptop (she was asking me for help so often she just gave me her password to everything) and see what the deal was with those pictures, and why the one of us was with them. But I played it safe and went to bed. I was in it for the long run.

My parents had gotten separated when I was nine and my sister, Marie, was six. There were never any big fights from what I could remember, and from what they said, they just grew apart. My father had a certain intellectual coldness to him that made connection difficult, which only made Marie work for it harder. The shocking thing was it actually seemed to work for a while, and it was clear he was often more comfortable around her than Mom.

There wasn’t even a discussion about who would go with whom after the split. She had moved in with Dad not long after, leaving me and Mom, so I was often tempted to try and treat her like a partner in non-sexual ways while I waited for a chance to really try something. My 14th birthday seemed to provide to perfect opportunity. Mom loved nights out, the air of celebration, and was fine with my choice of our standby Mexican restaurant, one of those holes-in-the-wall without a name, almost hidden away in an area of the city frequented by no one but customers of the restaurant. It was intimate yet communal—inside, the lighting and acoustics were such that you were only dimly aware of the people around you, but their presence was constant and comforting. I got by on the buzz of pleasant conversation, ours and others’, while Mom opted for an agave margarita, double tequila, which has always been enough to last her a dinner.

I could usually count on great food and Mom’s wit, but there was an undercurrent of something else between us that energized and almost unbalanced things. Mom didn’t know what I had seen on her computer, but then, well, neither did I, really. And I hadn’t felt comfortable looking further. It may have been a silly distinction, but going through her computer, even though she had given me the password, seemed a much worse transgression than going through her dirty laundry.

Back at home, I picked out The Lady of Eve for us to watch together. In no time at all we were both giggling steadily, snuggling into each other. I had been tossing around some lines in my head. Maybe more like “juggling, and poorly” for how well I executed them.

“Mom, can I tell you something?”

“Mmm?”

“Sometimes when you’re wearing your Yoga pants, I…I can’t believe how toned you look for your age. Or any age.”

She paused, and chuckled, and not in the way I was hoping for.

“Let’s talk.”

“Uh, okay.”

“You’re trying to have sex with me, right?”

I froze, startled by her bluntness. I mean, sure, I wanted to, more than anything, but she made it sound so crass and out-of-context, which I suppose was the intention. She sat straight up and set her eyes on mine. “I need to know what that means to you. Having sex with me.”

I stammered. My heart was pounding harder than it ever had before.

“I would be taking your virginity. Kind of a big deal, don’t ya think?”

“My first time should be with someone I love. There’s no one I love more than you.”

“Oh, sweetie.” She sighed and her left hand tickled the back of my neck. Her bottom lip quivered and her right hand was hot on my thigh. I could tell there was more she wanted to hear. Hell, honesty had gotten me this far.

“But more than that, I’m in love with you. Really in love. I want to be with you that way. I know it would be good. So…good.” I palmed her thigh for emphasis. “You know it would be good, too.”

She looked momentarily stunned, and I took my chance. I leaned in and kissed her. Neither of us moved. I put my hand on her far hip a second before she pulled away.

“I’m your mother, honey…”

My eyes lit up. I tried to keep my cool, but I began a bit too eagerly. “I know, I’ve thought about that a lot, and the fact that you’re my mom just makes it even better. Everything. I don’t see why romance love and family love should be separate. When it comes to you, I can’t separate them. One of my favorite memories is from back when you were working at the factory, and you would come home in the early morning, and I would come into the living room and we’d snuggle as we’d watch TV. That’s the first time I remember thinking about you sexually, my head nuzzling your breasts as we lay there, your hands playing with my hair. It was you being a mom and you being a beautiful woman all in one. I think this, would be all of that, and everything else.” I looked down. “And thinking about you being my first gives me butterflies in my tummy.”

I blushed at using such a juvenile word, but mom picked up on what she sensed must have been a latent need, for both of us. She grinned. “Butterflies in your…where?” She nudged me onto my back and started tickling me under my shirt. I put up a pathetic excuse for a fight, which ended as soon as her lips met my bare stomach. “Your tummy? … Your beautiful little tummy.”

She turned onto her back and just lay on me for a little while, staring at the ceiling fan and not saying anything.

“This is a big deal, sweetheart. Us making love. I’m going to have sex with my son. That’s how much I want you, how much you turn me on. How much we mean to each other. I love you so much, Jake. So much it scares me. I want to explore that love, all of it, as you become the man I know you’re going to be in my arms. That’s my sappy mom way of saying I’m in love with you, too. But I need to know…is this as real to you as it is to me?”

I shifted so I was staring down at her.

“Ever since I started having sexual desires, it’s been you, Mom. I moved onto other girls sometimes, sure, but eventually…well, it started to feel like I was cheating on you. In my heart.” She went back to my tummy when I said that, and I decided to spill my dumb guts again, and told her about my dreams of us getting married and being together, loving, husband and wife. When I finished, she had tears in her eyes.

“Oh, baby. That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.” She took my hand and moved her head dreamily towards the back of the house. “Let’s go to bed.”

She pulled me to her bedroom, which I saw had been decorated with at least a dozen candles, giving the room a clear yet romantic glow. Enough that I could see her blush when our eyes met.

“I was hoping something would happen between us tonight. I know it might seem corny.”

I shushed her with a kiss. “No, I love it.”

“Good. Because I love you.” She kissed me, harder, wetter, and sat down on the bed.

“Stand still. I want to undress my baby boy one last time, before I make him a man.”

I raised my arms so she could pull my t-shirt off. When they came back down, hers were already under mine and crossed, caressing. She stroked my shoulders. “You’re getting so strong, Jake.” I felt my cock stiffen in my slacks. It suddenly struck me that she had purchased and picked out both them and the underwear I had on underneath, and she was making me rock-hard through everything without touching it. My belt was removed with precision and atop my folded pants before I could blink, or at least it seemed like it.

“Your cock is so beautiful.” I stepped out of my boxers and she pulled me to her, taking me into her hand and gently chewing on my chin before looking in my eyes. “I love you so much, and I’m so happy we’re doing this.”

I blushed. “Me too, Mom.” She kissed my nose.

“You’re so hard for me.”

“I’m always hard for you.”

“Yeah? Do you stroke your cock thinking about me? Before you go to bed? Do you do it like this?”

I struggled to answer. “A little, but, uh, not this good…”

She laughed. “That’s a good answer, you little charmer. You really do have a way, you know. Seducing your mother. How many boys do you think have been able to get their mothers to have sex with them?”

I was in disbelief. The whole time she was continuing to stroke me expertly. It took everything I had not to come, but there was no way I was interrupting her.

“Uh, not many…”

“No, not at all. You’re just that sexy.” She kissed me and pushed her tongue into my mouth. It felt incredible and I let out a loud moan into hers, triggering my orgasm. She bit my tongue as I came, not hard, just enough for a small spike above to make large waves below, forcing a fountain of my cum into her palm, overflowing onto her dress and the bedspread.

“What a mess for Mommy. Oh my, oh my…”

She realized she had lost herself for a moment. In context “Mommy” wasn’t a big deal, but neither of us had said it yet and it spoke much unspoken of what we had said and did. I guess I was hesitant to fetishize our relationship in that way. It was okay solo, but seemed cheap to bring it to what we had, and were creating.

Unless, of course, she wanted to.

“Did you like hearing that, Jake? What I just said?

“Uh, yeah, Mom, I did…”

“That’s good, honey, because I liked saying it. You can call me Mommy, if you want, or anything at all when we’re together like this. Okay?

“Okay, Mom.”

“Good. Now help Mommy take off her dress.”

She turned around and I unzipped her. I stopped dead when the dress pooled at her feet.

“These are your favorites, aren’t they?” She asked, turning her head halfway and smiling. “I noticed them missing the most often.”

I beamed. “You’re amazing.”

She crawled onto the bed and swiftly pulled me up with her, settling me between her legs.

“Do you know what’s under here, Jake?” She asked huskily, rubbing the front of her panties, her pubic hair crinkling faintly. Two or three strands peeked out from the sides. There was a streak down the middle. “It’s where you came from.”

She took my hand and thrust it into a leghole. “Do you feel how hot and wet I am? That’s all from you. And all for you. So come get it.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I was embarrassed to be told once!

There was no time for ceremony in removing her panties. I can’t even remember how they got off. Just the view as I peered up from my vantage point between her knees. She had already leaked a little onto the bedspread. I placed my palms on the tops of her thighs, and took in where I came out. My lips drew tentatively to her pussy and I tried to kiss it like a mouth, and let out a long, low moan into her. I couldn’t help thinking of my illustrious career in grade school tuba and giggled.

“Mmm, that feels nice, tickling my pussy. You’re making me buzz all over, sweetie. Use your tongue.”

I thought about all the times this magic place was millimeters from my mouth and I didn’t even know it. Damp and matted from play-wrestling in the backyard. The picture, the soft wool tank-top, the panties underneath. Was Mom wet for me then? Did she want to take her 11 year-old son into the bathroom and rub his little cock until he shot his cum—assuming he could cum—into her hand? Maybe take him into her bedroom and show him what else his dirty little butthole could do, how much fun it could have, how fingers, tongues, and maybe even much bigger things could fit inside it?

While I remember most distinctly as I feasted on my mother’s cunt, nostrils deep in her matted bush, I still can’t put into words…it was like this was the center of her and therefore all of her at once, like being on every inch of her body at the same time. I parted her plump cheeks and almost came when I saw her asshole, tickled with juices trailed by my tongue all the way down. Not knowing what to do, I chose to do what I wanted to do: I closed my eyes and tried to burrow my tongue as deep as I could.

“Oh, baby, yes…kiss me there…”

It was tart and soaked in sweat and sex juices and who knows what else and I gobbled it up.

“I can’t believe you’re eating your mommy’s asshole…”

“Mmm, it tastes so good, Mommy. I love your butthole.” I got it nice and wet and slid a finger in. The reaction was immediate.

“Yes, yes, fuck my ass…” I worked myself in and out, encouraged by her continuous stream of cum and clenching cheeks. As nice as it was, I had somewhere else to be.

“Your ass feels so good, Mom. But you know where’s even better?”

“Ooooh…where’s that, baby?

I pressed my face full-on into her pussy, smearing her juices all over my face and fucking her with my tongue.

“Oh my!”

I looked up at her and grinned. “I’m home, Mommy.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, you think so, huh?”

I laughed. “Yeah. I came from here.”

She laughed harder. “Oh, I know you did, baby. But I can think of a much nicer way for you to come home.”

Without waiting for my response, she gripped me under the armpits and pulled me up her body almost effortlessly before we kissed. My cock laid tip-down along her lips and I dragged it playfully back and forth. She nodded at me and I pushed into her slowly but firmly: thanks to her, I was more confident now than I had ever been in my life.

She closed her eyes as I entered her. Later, she told me she had wanted so much to look at me, but she was simply too overwhelmed—that was okay, because I did enough looking for the both of us. I watched every minute change of expression, the progress of every bead of sweat as I plowed my cock into my mother for the first time. It was at least forty-five seconds before she opened her eyes, but when she did I was rewarded with a look that she had never let me see before and, to be honest, I have only seen during one subsequent session (though one almost equal in significance).

Without letting me rise from her depths, she changed course entirely and maneuvered herself on top of me. She rose until just my head was inside and sank back down onto me, her moans growing louder as she bottomed out. She grabbed my wrists and placed my palms flat on both sides of her softly curved belly. As she rode me, I could feel the muscles in her stomach pulsing (with what she later told me were clenches of her cunt), yet there was also the occasional quiver of soft flesh that my fingers felt made to ply, which, of course, they were.

“I remember when you were in here,” she whispered, pressing my clammy palms tighter to her. “I used to fuck myself while I rubbed my belly all over and felt you through my skin.” Her voice broke. I saw that her eyes were closed as she seemed to focus intently on what she was going to say, all the while riding me gently yet steadily.

“One night I allowed myself to imagine making love with you someday, as a man, as a beautiful man…which I eventually realized I had been doing all along. Right when I started to come you started kicking.” She looked deep into my eyes and made to speak again when I acted on pure impulse and used every upper body muscle I had to raise myself up to meet her. I kissed her and slid my arms under hers. She felt light as air as I flipped her around onto her back still kissing with my cock in her. I sat back on my heels a bit and continued to fuck her until I felt the familiar rumblings.

“Gonna come, baby?”

“Unnh, yeah…”

“Good, come, come inside Mommy, come on…”

I let go and felt my sperm gush into her, heaving myself onto her chest and into her shoulder, hot tears overwhelming my eyes, the release too much ecstasy for shame. She clenched my back and I felt her nails dig into me. “I’m cumming, Mommy’s cumming all over your cock! Yes!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

We lay lazily together afterward, licking each other’s body, all over, every inch, pressing our tongues into the sheets for our cum, though we couldn’t do it for more than a few seconds before laughing fits overtook us.

She pulled out her laptop and set it up on a stand beside the bed, turning towards me a little nervously.

“Jake, I want us to watch something very special together. I’m not going to say anything about it beforehand, I just want us watch it. I can explain afterwards if you have any questions. Okay?” I nodded.

We settled in and Mom’s right hand came to rest softly on my deflated cock as she turned on the TV. I recognized the woman on it immediately as the one from of the pictures. Sure enough, behind her on the bed, was the boy. The woman spoke:

“Hello, Corinne…and hello, Jake.”

I did a double take and made to speak, but Mom shushed me. I looked back at the screen and tried my best to focus.

The woman had an enchanting southern accent. “I know none of us have met, but I’ve heard a lot about you, Jake. My name is Amy, and this is my son, Henry.”

“Hi, Jake,” the boy said.

“Your mom and I started talking after my husband died and Henry and I had been struggling to make it alone. Henry did such a great job helping me to manage all the properties his father left behind, and all the work we still had to do on our own. When Henry was twelve, he gave me a handmade Valentine’s Day card listing everything he loved about me, and the ways I deserved to be worshipped. I would have adored it no matter what, of course, but I was shocked. The detail, the creativity…there was nothing at all sexual about it, but it cemented a lot of my own feelings that could later admit had been creeping in that direction.” She reached out to rub Henry’s upper thigh. “I spent so long struggling with my feelings,” she began haltingly. “It was a very long time before I could admit to myself what I was beginning to feel for my own boy. I did a lot of soul-searching, talked to a trusted friend or two…”

She absent-mindedly fingered a small, bright gold cross set at the swell of her breasts, pausing as if unsure whether or not to elaborate. When she started again, all signs of hesitation were gone.

“I decided that this was something I needed to explore on my own, appealin’ to no one else. That I owed it to Henry, and to myself, to explore it as honestly as I could. That’s when I went online, and I met your mom, Jake. It was amazing to meet someone who was going through the same things I was. We started exchanging pictures, telling stories about you boys, what we’d…do to you boys.” She blushed and Henry chuckled behind her. “I realize how naive it must sound, opening up so quickly to a total stranger about something like this, but I could just tell right away that your mom was for real.

“She said she wouldn’t show this video until after your first time together. I know you’re a smart kid, Jake, so I probably don’t have to say this, but please don’t feel like you have to reciprocate with anything like this for us. This is just something I wanted to do for your mom since she was so important in, well, helping me see who I really am.”

I looked over and saw that Mom was crying. I leaned down and put my head on her shoulder. Onscreen, Amy looked back at her son.

“Do you have anything to add, Henry?”

“Uh…what she said.”

Everyone laughed. It was a bit eerie to hear me and Mom doing it at the same time as the couple in the video, but it was a good tension-breaker. “Seriously, I’m just excited to know there’s someone else out there who gets to do what we do, and that he gets to see me do it. And by it, I mean fucking my mother!”

Amy laughed and rolled her eyes, turning to crawl towards Henry on the bed. “I swear he has the soul of a poet, but the instincts of a little shit!” She dove into his belly and started tickling and kissing him, the two of them moving on to full necking almost immediately. Mom turned to me and smiled. “They get caught up sometimes.”

Henry pulled away and said something too low to hear. Amy nodded and walked towards the camera.

“Sorry guys! Let’s get you a better perspective…” She placed the camera on a bookshelf above the bed and hopped down excitedly to land beside her son. We were very close to the action, and the improved angle and light finally let me get a good look at Henry. He was chubby and handsome, with fine sandy hair and a broad chest his mother was lovingly caressing and planting soft yet insistent kisses all across. It was obvious everything up to this point had been more or less foreplay for them, and Amy was quickly at her son’s waist. She tugged his tight briefs down to reveal a cock almost obscenely fat for a thirteen year-old, with a long head narrow at the tip that swelled out pink and round. It was easily the width of his mother’s wrist, and the thick gob of pre-cum peeking out merged with a small white pearl on Amy’s bracelet as she slowly worked her hands up and down.

“Mmm, somehow it gets bigger every time…” Amy looked right into the lens and winked. “How do you keep getting so big for Mommy?”

Henry groaned as she drew her lips around his thick head. “You make it so easy, Mom. Just hearing your voice gets me hard, and then somehow I just keep getting harder from there.” Amy choked out a laugh as she continued to work the massive shaft down her throat until hitting her limit halfway, humming delightedly as Henry held her chin in his hands. She withdrew slowly, sucking and slurping as she did, her son muttering, “Mom, Mom, oh, Mommy…” and clenching the sheets with shaking fists. The loud POP! when Amy released him surprised even her, and she chuckled throatily.

“That sounded like an exclamation point, and we haven’t even gotten started yet,” she said as she sat astride Henry’s stomach, leaning back against his fat cock, which hadn’t deflated in the least. Her face went to his and she kissed him deeply, the sounds of their lips and tongues clearly audible. I heard another noise I couldn’t quite make out at first, a soft kind-of squishing, that I quickly realized was from Amy’s wet cunt, sliding up and down as she humped her son’s stomach. He seemed her ideal riding size, her toned hips forming a perfect arch around his pale, barely pubescent flesh. Amy broke apart, too worked-up to utter a word as she slid her slit down half-delirious in heat, a slick trail of pussy cum leading from the bottom of Henry’s ribcage to the base of his cock, which Amy had set herself atop, whimpering as she welcomed it home.

“So big inside me, baby, I can always barely belie-e-e-ve it…” she half-sang as she sank down, her hips moving in small slow circles all the way, one last wail echoing when she bottomed out and pinched her nipples roughly. Her sleepy drawl was driving me crazy—it was obvious that Henry wasn’t exaggerating!

They continued to fuck through her coming, more gently, whispering sweet endearments to each other too low to hear. I turned to Mom and we did the same, soundlessly, moving our hands over each other’s body while keeping an eager eye on the screen. After a few minutes, the four of us reached a strange and wonderful symbiosis, mothers and sons making love to each other across time and continents, bonded by sweet incest…

Amy had her third orgasm and managed to cast a satisfied glance up towards us. “I think we got about twenty minutes of battery power left, so we’re just gonna keep goin’ till we can’t anymore. You might have noticed that Henry hasn’t eaten me out, but that’s only because he likes Mommy’s pussy full of his cum when he does.”

They switched places and Amy settled into a horseshoe of pillows and blankets that Henry had constructed for her. He grinned into the camera and licked up a thick dollop of cum that had leaked down to his mom’s asshole, and dove in.

Mom turned towards me. “Let’s save some for later. I need you inside me again.”

I whooped childishly and scurried under the comforter towards my mother’s pussy, only to find her wearing a pair of panties I had never seen before, deep crimson with a slinky string around to a loose, full back.

“When did you change into these?!”

“When you went into the bathroom to clean yourself up. What were you doing in there for so long, anyway?”

I grinned up at her. “Oh, not much. Just thinking about how waking up after the best night of my life is going to feel.”

She scoffed and flicked me in the forehead. “You can stop trying to charm the panties off of me, boyo. It’s unseemly at a certain point.”

I nibbled on her clit roughly through the fabric, causing her to shriek in mock-protest and bring her hips up to hump my face.

“Mmm, I am glad to see Baby still likes Mommy’s taste in undies…”

“I guess so, Mom,” I batted my eyes in my best bad little boy and licked along the length of the gusset, sucking up all the juices running over. I peeled the wet panties aside, like dewy leaves over a sunlit gully, to take in my mother’s cunt—

“—but that’s nothing compared to the taste on them.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

9 thoughts on “Eyes & Intuition

  1. Bravo!
    Up until Mom shuts off the computer near the end, this was one of the best stories in this genre I have ever read…and then you just sort of chopped it off and ended it. I do not mean to sound so grumpy about it but up until then it really good.
    No matter. I hope to read many more of your stories, Sammy. You are very talented!
    Maybe continue this story with the 2 couples playing more remotely and then getting together in person?

  2. Thanks for the generous feedback!

    bks, no grumpiness taken! It was kind of a deliberate gotcha before the next chapter, which definitely WILL bring all four together in addition to a few other fetishes. I also have a number of other stories in the works, spanning all possible family combinations—except for grandses, but they’re cummin’!

  3. Thank you so much Rach!!
    This is one of my favourite stories, probably because of my thoughts about my own son! I want to experience such closeness and passion with my boy, and it makes me oh so very wet and on fire to read your description of it!!
    Pipi xxxxxoxox

  4. You’re welcome, Pipi! There’s no finer review than you all hot & wet thinking about your son. He’s a very lucky boy.

  5. I liked the story but I would’ve liked it to state where Mom & son took a step-by-step approach to the actual sex as was alluded to at the start.
    From just talking abt it to feeling each other up then maybe visual stimuli etc.
    The inclusion of Amy & Henry was a nice addition as well.
    All-in-all well written.
    Ratt

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